The Watcher
by lydiathedinosaur
Summary: It's incredibly creepy, but he doesn't care. He likes watching her.


He's been watching her for a while now. The view from his balcony allows him to see her kitchen and part of the tiny dining area, which she never uses. He makes sure to watch her at night, so she can't see him. The apartment that he owns isn't the best, but neither is hers. Downtown Toronto doesn't offer much besides insane citizens and bars on its' lower windows, so there wasn't much to choose from.

She's always playing music. Preferably Alice Cooper or AC/DC, but the occasional Led Zeppelin and Aerosmith is heard, along with some other obscure angry music. He watches her dance around to 'Shook me all night long' in a spotted purple bra while she cooks carrots. She's sexy, cute and beautiful, all wrapped into one. It also doesn't hurt that she has a great taste in music. Her hair is wavy and black, going all the way down to her waist. She happily smokes her cancer stick, not caring as she burns the orange vegetables on the tiny stove.

On Thursday, he watches her cook dinner again, half naked, with Stairway to Heaven blasting from the speakers. This time she's crying, previously having been on the phone with god knows whom. Her makeup is running, her sobs shaking her. He wishes that he could just knock on her apartment door and comfort her, wrap his arms around her and then they could both dance together like nothing was wrong with the world. He doesn't know what's wrong, but good god he wants to punch whoever is making her unhappy.

Then, Friday night, she wears a beautiful black lace set and plasters on dark red lipstick. Her cigarette hangs out of her mouth. 'Porn Star Dancing' by My Darkest Days is playing. He finally understands what she does for a living. Understands why she doesn't have a lover or family. Understands the signs that have been thrown at him. The crappy apartment, the tears, lack of family or clothing. Then he realizes that he loves her. Him, who can't keep a stable job and has his mother paying for rent half the time. Him, the schizoid that spends half his pay on marijuana and wine from the 1900's. Him, who doesn't seem capable of emotion or feeling. Him, who suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder because of his deployment in Afghanistan. The whole thing confuses him, so he goes to bed early, leaving his glass of wine on the railing of the balcony.

Saturday is when he gets a panic attack. She receives a letter, which he can clearly recognize as a notice of eviction (mainly because he's received one hundreds of times). She throws it aside as if it is another old man she fucks for a living. She's probably been thrown out tons of times, seeing as how she can't keep her music down. His precise moment of panic arrives when he realizes that he won't see her anymore.

So, he comes to the conclusion that he needs to talk to her. Meet her. Kiss her. Hold her. Marry her. She needs love, not another penis. He's going to ask her to move in with him. She'll probably say no, but it's worth a try. She's beautiful and he needs someone with him – the loneliness isn't helping his mental disorder.

When he makes his way over to her apartment he really doesn't know what to expect. Maybe she'll throw him out after he declares his love for her. Maybe she'll label him another one of the creeps and not listen to him whatsoever. Heck, maybe she'll even fuck him.

Three firm knocks and she is at the door already.

_Quick reflexes. _He thinks to himself.

"Uhh…hi." His voice is deep, unsure but steady. Her white lingerie is practically screaming at him. He can see it through the thin shirt she is wearing. She doesn't wear pants. It's sad really, how comfortable she is wearing so little around people.

"Can I help you?" Her eyes searching his, a small smile lighting her face. She has blue eyes. He admires her strength, how even in these dark times she can smile.

"I...um…" He isn't sure how to put this. He hasn't planned this out – he's never been good at planning anything. Clearly, otherwise he wouldn't be at a prostitutes' door asking for her to come to his apartment. All he knows is that he wants her to live with him so she doesn't have to home hop for the next five or so years.

"I love you."


End file.
